


That's a Copy

by Shirokokuro



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Batdad, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Bruce just wants to go to work in peace, Crack, Drabble, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Humor, I headcanon that Lucius has the most amazing laugh in all of New Earth, It's just based on that scene from the trailers, No spoilers of Into the Spiderverse, Police Officer Dick Grayson, you know the one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 17:04:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19750027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shirokokuro/pseuds/Shirokokuro
Summary: "You gotta say 'I love you' back."





	That's a Copy

**Author's Note:**

> This is the drabble I was talking about, Wish xDD

__“Thanks for the ride,” Bruce says through a yawn. He didn’t get much sleep last night, never does, but he likes to think he’s doing pretty well for six a.m. on a weekday. The faint smell of downtown traffic—turned-over gravel and car exhaust—that's coming through the window helps keep him awake, the bite of the morning air that’s mingled in with marine layer. Compared to Dick’s verve, though, Bruce doesn’t really look conscious.

“Anytime, B,” the younger man answers from the driver’s side, peppy. He’s been rapping his fingers against the steering wheel while watching an officer shepherd pedestrians along the crosswalk. “I’m still surprised Alfred got the flu, though. It’s spring. Pretty sure it’s a crime to get sick right now.”

“Crime never does sleep.”

Dick snorts at that, adjusting his hands over the wheel when the officer waves for them to cross. “Don’t I know it. Being a cop during the day and then with the moonlighting—I never thought I’d admit it, but I’m beat. No clue how Mr. Allen does it day in and out. Honestly…”

Dick keeps talking, changing lanes here and there, but mostly he just keeps the police cruiser steady. (It's a wonder how Dick convinced Rohrbach to let him have the car for the day. Bruce doesn’t ask.) Dick looks good, though. Happy. Blüdhaven gets more sun than Gotham by just a fraction, and the difference shows in the cinnamon glow on the man’s face, even darker in contrast with the white police uniform he’s wearing.

An overpass shadows them both for a second, heightening the lissome glow of Dick’s eyes. The spearmint blue, nearly pastel, swivels Bruce’s way when the younger man cracks a joke. (“Next time I should have you sit in the back behind the bars. Can you imagine the headlines? Vale would die.”) Bruce doesn’t laugh, but he does ask him about work, how he’s been doing. Small things.

Conversation with Dick is like stoking a fire. A prod here to turn over the embers. A question there to change the topic. It fills the inside of the cruiser with light words, nothing too serious but all well-intended.

Bruce missed this. They don’t see each other much anymore—didn’t used to see each other at all—and it does Bruce good to see his son doing well.

The steering wheel slides back against Dick’s palms when he pulls up in front of Wayne Enterprises. “Here we are,” Dick beams, putting the cruiser in park. “Oh, and I've got something for you.” The man plucks a thermos from the cupholder and stuffs it into Bruce’s hands. Bruce sniffs it hesitantly—smells like something out of a can—and Dick’s quick to commiserate. “I know, I know. It’s not Alfred’s good stuff, but last I checked, coffee is all the rage for commuters, and Maxwell _does_ make for an honorable brew.”

Bruce just manages not to roll his eyes as he pops the door open, stepping out onto the curb. (Honestly, Bruce can get by one day without Alfred. He can make coffee just fine on his own… Maybe.) “Thanks,” Bruce sighs as he turns back to face his son, hand on the door. Dick is leaned in his direction against the pull of the seatbelt, teeth flashing in a grin, and for whatever reason, something about him looks slightly devilish. Bruce can’t put his finger on why.

“Anytime, pop. I love you.”

“Uh-huh,” Bruce drones shutting the door before making for W.E.’s entrance. The marine layer is rounding into a glacéed white overhead, suspiciously simple. Almost pleasant. Gotham isn’t either of those things, Bruce knows all too well, but then he sees Lucius walking in beside his daughter Tiffany, and that’s normal. The false sense of security makes it worse when it happens.

Bruce can almost feel the blue and red police lights hit the back of his neck when the siren chirps, a short _be-wop_ that gets him to wince immediately. He doesn’t turn around at first, searches Lucius’ face for a sign. The man glances at the police cruiser over Bruce’s shoulder, then back to Bruce himself with wide eyes. A few other pedestrians are slowing on the street to stare.

_Dick, what are you—?_

“ _You gotta say ‘I love you’ back_.”

Bruce turns around to find his son with the speaker radio pulled up to his face, watching him deviously through the open window. _So this is why he agreed to drive me._

“Dick, we don’t have time for this,” Bruce deadpans. “You have work in an hour.”

_“I wanna hear it.”_

“It’s a thirty-minute drive back to Blüdhaven."

“ _It’s a three-word sentence.”_

There’s a moment of pause. A standoff. Somewhere behind him, Lucius breaks out into the loudest cackle known to mankind. Tiffany at least has the wits to temper hers to a keening-kind of whistle. Both, however, are equally bad.

“Dick, please—”

_“I love you, Dick.”_

“Be serious.”

_“Dick. I love you.”_

Pedestrians' heads are shifting back and forth to follow the conversation. Meanwhile, Lucius’ laugh has evolved into something half seagull, half pinball machine. It makes Bruce’s ears bleed.

After a long, utterly exhausted sigh, the CEO tilts his head back. He silently wishes for Darkseid to stir up trouble. For a JLA emergency. A riddle from Nygma, even. Anything.

“Dick,” Bruce says resignedly when nothing happens. His gaze slips down to meet his son, who looks incredibly proud of himself. “I love you.”

Dick grins, eyes bright. One of these days, he’s going to pay for all the things he puts Bruce through. But for now, the young man’s voice crinkles through the speaker so everyone can hear.

_“That’s a copy.”_


End file.
